


Undercut

by Fuzzball457



Series: K-Pop One Shots [4]
Category: GOT7, K-pop
Genre: Angst, Bambam's bad haircut, Best Friends Kunpimook Bhuwakul | BamBam & Kim Yugyeom, Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Kunpimook Bhuwakul | BamBam-centric, Nosebleed, Stop Stop It era, Youngjae only got 1 line sorry, mom jinyoung
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22576513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuzzball457/pseuds/Fuzzball457
Summary: Based on BamBam saying in an interview that seeing his Stop Stop It hair cut made him so angry he cried and got a nosebleed.Ft. mom!Jinyoung and bff!Yugyeom.
Relationships: Kunpimook Bhuwakul | BamBam/Everyone
Series: K-Pop One Shots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591903
Comments: 2
Kudos: 99





	Undercut

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a multifandom K-pop series of one-shots that will include hurt/comfort, angst, all sorts of emotional struggles, probably some exploration of sexuality, polyamory, etc. Some will be canon, some AU. Although this isn't request-driven, feel free to leave a comment if there's a certain idol and/or situation you'd like to see! I can't make any promises because I don't have much time to write so sometimes you've just got to follow the muse - but I'll do my best. 
> 
> This is my first fanfic for Got7, but I saw Bambam discussing getting so angry he got a nosebleed when he saw his haircut for the Stop Stop It era and I ran with it. I'm sorry if anyone feels OOC and I'm sorry that not everyone plays a large role. I'm still getting a feel for their personalities. Obviously this takes place shortly before the release of Stop Stop It, so somewhere late 2014.

“You’re all set,” the stylist says from behind him, moving to unsnap the protective cloak from his shoulders.

“Thanks,” Bambam says without looking up. He’d gotten nervous about halfway through the cut when the razor started going for the fluffy hair on the sides of his head, so he’d kept his gaze on his phone for the past fifteen minutes. The group chat is blowing up with Jackson’s complaints of being lonely and ignored, littered with anti-Jackson conspiracy theories encompassing not just Got7, but every so-called friend of his. Entertaining to say the least. And a lovely distraction from his hair. The stylists are stylists for a reason. They know what they were doing.

He glances at the mirror only after he gets to his feet and reaches the end of the chat.

His phone nearly hits the floor.

“You look tough,” the stylist says, her reflection smiling from behind him.

Tough is not the word he’d use to describe it.

Horrific. Disastrous. Cringe-inducing.

He looks all of twelve years old with a close— _too close—_ buzz along the sides of his head and a wild, floppy mess on top. It’s not a mohawk. It’s not neat and suave or cool and hip hop.

And it’s most certainly not tough.

The stylist sniffs, smile slipping off her face as she takes in the slack gape of Bambam’s mouth. “It’s hardly any different than what the others got. It’s in line with the concept,” she insists, shoulders pulling in tightly. Bambam has seen the others’ though and, while they aren’t great, none of them are this bad.

He’s horrified to see his eyes watering visibly in his reflection. He can’t bring himself to offer more than the barest thanks to the stylist as he brushes past her. She calls after him, but he doesn’t care if it’s a reprimand or an apology or anything in between.

He makes it out the door and onto the street in record time. He flicks his hood up as he makes the quick walk back to the dorm, stomach churning with each step. How is he going to face the others when he gets home? They’ll rip him apart, and with good reason. He looks so goddamn dumb.

Rubbing at his eyes, he forces a few deep breaths. He can’t be crying like a baby when he gets home. The only thing worse than a terrible hair cut is crying over a terrible haircut. He already looks stupid enough without a wobbling chin and streaming eyes. 

He tries to keep his steps slow, counting out two steps to each sidewalk square, but he loses track as he imagines going up on stage with his hair like this. What if they think it was his choice? What if they think he did this to himself? It looks like he let his cat cut his hair and he’s supposed to go out there and smile with pride? Idols can’t gain two kilograms without getting raced over the coals. When the media gets a hold of this, he's done for.

“Stop,” he hisses to himself, coming to a full stop and nearly causing a teenage girl to plow into his back. He murmurs an apology as she passes, but he keeps his eyes on the ground. He’s worked up again, fists clenched and eyes itchy. He unfurls his fingers and holds them out in front of them. As he breathes, he curls and uncurls his toes in his shoes until he feels a little more grounded. Once his hands stop trembling, he rounds the corner to the dorm and makes his way inside.

There’s no one right by the entryway when he gets in, so he hangs his jacket on the coatrack. He feels exposed without his hood, but maybe he can just skirt by real quick…

“Hey, Bammie,” Jackson calls from the couch without turning around. He and Yugyeom are absorbed in some video game while Mark, half draped over the arm of the couch, scrolls through his phone. Good, he thinks. They’re busy and he can slink to bed in peace. Maybe he’ll wake up tomorrow and this will all have been a nightmare.

That hope dies in his throat though as Jinyoung and Jaebum come out of the kitchen together, nearly bumping into him.

“Hey, Bam, what’s—holy crap, what happened?” Jinyoung’s eyes go round as he stares at the mess atop Bambam’s head. His shout is enough to draw the attention of everyone on the couch. Youngjae’s not due home for at least another hour but at this rate Bambam wouldn’t be surprised if he returned home early with an entire entourage so they could all gawk and stare at Bambam’s hair together.

“Oh shit,” Jackson sniggers, grin plastered on his face from where he’s twisted on the couch, elbows up on the backrest like an eager kid. Mark’s already lost himself and his laughter grates over Bambam’s skin like hot coals.

“Be nice, hyung, he’s obviously been in a horrible accident,” Yugyeom scolds, earning a snort from Jaebum.

Bambam knows he looks dumb. He knows it, alright? From the moment he’d caught a glimpse of his reflection dread had begun to build like a rock in his stomach. It’s _awful_. He can’t represent Got7 like this and he certainly can’t go up on stage with anything resembling confidence while he looks like this _._ He’ll be a laughing stock. Look at that dorky Thai kid pretending to be tough with a floppy Mohawk. MCs would spot his hair as an easy target a mile off and the hate comments would flood in even faster.

So he already knows it and the honking laughter that fills the room from every corner tugs on his heart with a biting sting. It’s all in good fun, he wants to think. But he only just collected himself on the way home. He just wanted to go to bed and forget about it for a bit. Why is that so hard?

Tears well in his eyes immediately, but he bites them back. It’s stupid to get so worked up over a hair cut, really it is, but an idol is their image first. And his image is ruined. “Bambam?” Jinyoung asks, a tentative smile on his face as the three on the couch build increasingly elaborate hypothetical accidents that may have befallen Bambam to produce such a horrid cut.

“Relax,” Jaebum says, shoving gently at Bambam’s shoulder. “It’s just a haircut. It’ll look totally different in a few weeks.” He pats Bambam on the back as he passes, snagging a few chips out of the bag in Jinyoung’s hand.

_Yeah, but will it look better?_

There’s no salvaging this for at least a month or two, not unless he wants to buzz it all and the company will never agree to that. Anger twists up his throat, suffocating him. How could they do this to him? Who approved this bullshit? If he can’t have any say the least they could do is stick him with something decent. Tough? He looks like a toddler who got ahold of daddy’s trimmer.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Jackson echoes, eyes alight and grin taking up half his face. “It’ll grow out in a bit. And in the meantime you can make yourself useful as a duster. We can call it the Swiffer,” he says, gesturing to the top of Bambam’s head. “You could probably patent that!”

It won’t matter if people like _Stop Stop It_. It won’t matter if their dance is perfect and their vocals are flawless. No one will see past his dumb hair. Did the stylist know she was ruining their comeback when she went feral on his hair? Did she know all the shit he already has to put up with as a Thai idol? And now this? He’s done for.

“Bambam?” Jinyoung’s hand flutters over his shoulder. An ache builds in his jaw and Bambam realizes just how tightly he’s clenching it.

“Aw, Bammie, don’t get all upset,” Jackson coos from the couch. “It’s just…I mean look at it, how could we not laugh?” He smile turns softer, trying to rope Bambam into the joke. We laugh at each other so the world can’t, they used to say, but now that sense of comradery feels crumpled under the weight of their laughter.

 _How could they do this to him?_ The company and the dumb stylists. His members who couldn’t leave well enough alone. The whole entire industry that will lose its collective shit over his ludicrously bad trim.

“Yeah, just stay in the background for a bit,” Yugyeom offers with a smile. They’re trying to ease up, to pull back a bit, but it’s too late.

I don’t want to stay in the background, he wants to hiss. I’ve worked so hard to prove I deserve the spotlight, that I deserve to be taken seriously. And now this? Every inched gained will be lost in a second.

“Guys, wait—” Jinyoung starts to say, moving closer to Bambam with that worried look of his. Too late. Bambam’s had enough.

“I’m going to bed,” he grinds out, turning on his heel. He barely sees the way Jackson pulls back, sitting up more alertly, before Bambam plows down the hall, a chorus of his name ringing after him.

It’s not the bedroom he goes to though. Instead he flies into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind him before sinking onto the closed toilet. He brings his knees up and buries his face in them.

It’s so dumb to be this upset, he knows it. But _god._ He just wants to be attractive. He wants to be pretty and sexy, someone fans and idols alike admire. He wants to make his group proud. He knows he’s not the best rapper in the group, but his dancing has always been a natural source of pride. But not anymore, not with this piece of crap on his head distracting everyone. And it was all that stylist’s fault. Bambam’s not one to shift blame or hold grudges, but he can’t help the acidic burn along the back of his throat when he thinks of the way she scolded him. _It’s in line with the concept_ , like Bambam was trying to derail the entire comeback with his snobbish desires. Like he wasn’t appreciating the work of genius that was his hair. But how could you look at this and pat yourself on the back for a job well done? She’d screwed him over and scolded him for complaining. Isn’t that idol life in one sentence?

He buries his fingers in his hair, tugging at the longer locks. He doesn’t have to be the center. He doesn’t have to be the prettiest or the very best anything. He just wants to look good and do his job well and instead he’s been made into a laughing stock.

A knock on the door. “Bambam?” Jaebum, here to play the diplomatic leader.

“Go away,” he snaps. It’s not until his voice scrapes across his tongue that he realizes how loud he’s breathing. He sounds like a bull fresh from a rodeo, bitter and in pain and fucking _angry._ His chest heaves with the unfairness of it all and pain pricks up along his scalp from his unrelenting grasp.

“Come on, Bam, let us in,” Jaebum calls. Bambam wants to hiss at him. Leave me alone, he thinks as he glares daggers at the door. Haven’t you all had your fun?

He’s so angry he can barely see straight. His blood pressure’s probably through the roof but all he can picture is the stylist’s disapproving frown and the way his member’s couldn’t make it ten seconds without bursting into laughter at the sight of him. If the people who love him the most can’t look at him without losing it, how will he ever be able to go on stage for their new song? And, oh God, the music video’s being filmed in a few days, forever memorializing just how much of a wannabe tough boy Bambam can look like. What a fucking poser, Jesus.

He can take the laughter normally. You have to, to be an idol. But this isn’t something he willingly did, this isn’t something he can defend or promise to perfect. This wasn’t his choice and there’s nothing to be done. He’s boxed in and he’s drowning in it.

“We have a key to the bathroom door, dumdum,” Mark calls, rapping his knuckles against the door. “Open it or we will.”

Why was a little privacy so much to ask for?

“I’m taking a shower,” he finally replies, making no move to turn on the faucet.

“I could go for a group shower,” Jackson says. Great, he’s there too. Are they having a party out there or something? How many people even fit in the cramped hallway?

Fine, if they won’t play the game, then Bambam’s done pretending too. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

There’s a sudden slew of rapid-fire whispering on the other side of the door before someone lets out a muffled cry. “Ignore these idiots,” Jinyoung finally calls. “We’re just worried about you, baby. Let us in so we can make sure you’re okay.”

“What’s going on?” Youngjae. Great. The cavalry’s all here.

“Hair emergency,” Jackson quips.

Bambam drags his hands down his face, moaning. This is fucking ridiculous. The hair is ridiculous and this breakdown is ridiculous and the fact that he can’t have five minutes alone is ridiculous.

He blinks in surprise, pulling back his hand to stare at the streak of bright red along the edge of his finger.

“I’m bleeding?”

 _“What?”_ Jaebum’s voice jumps an octave.

He presses his index finger to his nose and stares at the circle of red that comes back on it. It’s been years since he’s cried his way into a nosebleed, but there it is.

“What do you mean you’re bleeding?” Jinyoung asks, voice tight and urgent.

“We’re coming in,” Mark says. The humor is gone from his voice. Bambam can count on his hand the number of times their eldest has sounded so serious. The handle begins to shake as the bathroom door is unlocked.

They spill in, looking almost comical in their haste to squeeze six boys through the bathroom doorframe.

“Oh god,” Youngjae whispers, hand coming up to cover his mouth as he sees the haircut for the first time..

Forcing his way to the front of the pack, Jinyoung drops to his knees in front of Bambam. “Where are you bleeding, baby?” he asks. Jaebum passes him a wadded up ball of toilet paper.

“It’s just my nose.” His voice is strangled from his crying session, but Jinyoung nods and pats gently at his nose with the toilet paper.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Jaebum asks. Between Jinyoung in front of him and Jaebum next to him, Bambam can’t see the rest of the members but he can hear them bickering quietly as they fight for the closest spot.

“No, it’s just from…” He trails off, gesturing instead to his undoubtedly red eyes and cheeks. It’s not exactly a secret he was crying his eyes out.

“Oh, Bam,” Jinyoung tsks. Bambam’s anger fades away with each swipe of Jinyoung’s thumb across his cheekbone.

“We’re real sorry, Bambam.” Yugyeom’s head peaks over Jaebum’s shoulder as he speaks. The contrition is written in the crease of his brow and the frown on his lips. He looks miserable and guilt slices through Bambam’s chest for overreacting to such a degree.

“It’s fine,” he croaks. In the wake of his anger he just feels tired. He wants to get out of this bathroom, crowded with worried bandmates, and into bed where he can forget this ever happened.

“It’s not,” Jaebum counters, “but this isn’t the time or place. Bam, do you want someone to stay with you while you get cleaned up?”

“Gyeomie,” he requests, wiggling his fingers at their maknae. Based on the relief that blossoms on Yugyeom’s face, he made the right choice. The youngest slips around Jaebum’s body blockade and affixes himself to Bambam’s side immediately. From his seated positon on the toilet, Bambam lets his head fall against Yugyeom’s stomach. There’s a hand in his hair immediately.

“Okay,” Jinyoung says, getting to his knees and patting Bambam’s head one final time. “We’ll be in the living room.”

“Don’t make me leave my baby!” Jackson moans, making grabby hands towards Bambam, but Mark easily spins him away.

“We’ll be in the living room,” Mark repeats firmly as he bodily shoves Jackson, wailing loudly all the way, down the hall. He shoots Bambam a smile over his shoulder and something settles a little more steadily in Bambam’s chest. The world hasn’t actually tuned upside down.

“Take your time,” Jaebum says, ushering Youngjae and Jinyoung out.

“I’m so sorry,” Yugyeom begins, tucking his arms around Bambam’s shoulders and resting his cheek atop the cursed haircut.

“It’s not really your fault,” he says with a sniff. “I just feel so stupid. I was already upset before I got home. You guys were just…the straw that broke the camel’s break.”

“Still though.” Yugyeom pulls away to wet a washcloth. The rough fabric is blessedly cool against Bambam’s flaming face as Yugyeom pats his cheeks and forehead. “We went too far.”

“The stylist went too far.” Over Yugyeom’s shoulder he can see half of his face in the mirror. “I look so dumb.”

“Have you seen Jackson?” Yugyeom scoffs. “You’re hardly the worst thing happening in this band hair-wise.”

“Jackson always wears a hat…” Bambam mutters, but already he’s feeling something light and bubbly filling his lungs.

“Yeah, ‘cause he knows how bad his hair is. It’s just the concept this time around. It won’t always fit everyone.”

Putting down the washcloth, Yugyeom fills the cup next to the sink with some cold water and all but forces it into Bambam’s hand. “We’ll look back and laugh at some point.”

Bambam’s not so sure about that, but the sick anxiety that this would be the end of his career as anything remotely resembling a serious artist has been wiped clean. He can play the team goof, but he doesn’t want to actually look like a goof. But they’ll survive as a band. The concept will be different next time. Eventually they’ll hit one that will feel true to the dancer Bambam imagines himself to be. Someone strong yet beautiful. Confident. It won’t always feel like they’re toeing the line, one mistake too many from slipping back into obscurity. There’s a lot riding on them as JYP’s first male group in half a decade and sometimes the pressure nips at his mind, chasing away sleep and draining his strength.

“The water is for drinking, not staring at,” Yugyeom scolds, guiding Bambam’s hand to bring the cup to his mouth.

“Right, thanks.” It’s cool down his throat.

“It’s just a haircut,” Yugyeom says. It’s probably the hundredth time Bambam’s heard it in the last hour but this time it doesn’t cause a burst of annoyance. “It doesn’t change your skills as a dancer or a rapper. You’re still you.”

“What if we lose fans?”

“The fans aren’t here just for your hair, Bam,” he offers dryly. “And if they are, we’ll get them back next comeback. Someday the company will give us a little more creative control and we can ix-nay any and all floppy Mohawks. Now come on.” He gathers Bambam up, pulling him to his feet and patting his shirt back into place. “Everyone’s waiting. We can watch a movie or something.”

He still feels dumb as he shuffles into the living room, but by the time he’s on the couch, head in Jackson’s lap, feet on Mark, the panic is gone. Something a little more at ease is settling in. He’s got the rest of the life to prove his skills.

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, this is my first foray into Got7 so kudos and comments would be much appreciated! Feel free to hmu on tumblr at rose-of-tori, but I'm really bad about checking regularly >.<
> 
> Have a lovely rest of your week!


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